The morning after Hythesion agreed to carry the Pendant of Morea, he stands at Thullford's eastern gate with a packed satchel slung over his shoulder, fingers brushing the leather pouch that holds the box. He takes a deep breath, ready to set out alone – until Osmedious's hand lands firmly on his shoulder.
"Whoa, wait up brother, you ain't going anywhere alone," Osmedious said. "That pendant's too important to risk on one person. One wrong step, one ambush… and we lose everything."
"I've handled myself before," Hythesion says, pulling his shoulder away gently. "I don't need people I don't trust slowing me down."
"Slowing you down? You need a team – people who've got your back when things go south!" Osmedious's voice rises a little, drawing glances from passersby.
Their argument is cut short as Kaylla riding a horse, strides toward them, her jaw set tight. She stops in front of Hythesion, her dark eyes scanning him like she's seeing him for the first time in years.
"I still think this is a mistake," she says flatly.
"But the guild's reputation is on the line and I won't let your recklessness tarnish what we've built. Osmedious — find some capable candidates to accompany him. No exceptions."
"Yes maam! " Osmedious bowed.
She starts to ride away, then halts midstep, her voice softer this time but still sharp as glass. "You better not mess this up, Hythesion."
Hythesion looked at Kaylla as she walks away.
Osmedious leads Hythesion through the winding streets of Thullford to meet three prospects he'd carefully picked:
The Rogue, Vex, a half-elf with ink-black hair tied in a braid, leaning against a wall in the busy thieves' quarter.
"So uhmm– what can you do?" Hythesion said after he shared the details of the job.
She runs her fingers over a lockpick set as she talks, her eyes darting around the street. "I can disarm any trap you throw at me – and I know every secret path to Morea. Plus, I've got a nose for treasure." But Hythesion notices her gaze linger on a small coin purse hanging from a merchant's young daughter's belt. He shakes his head and keeps walking.
The Bard, Lyran Brightstring, standing on a crate in the market square, his golden lute gleaming under the sun. He sings loud songs about slaying dragons and winning princesses' hearts, drawing a small crowd. When he finishes, he bows dramatically and holds out his hat for coins. A crate of turnips topples nearby, spilling produce across the cobblestones – the elderly vendor stumbles trying to pick them up, but Lyran just steps over her, calling for more gold. Hythesion turns away without a word.
The Wizard, Malachar the Blue, holed up in a tower room filled with glowing crystals and bubbling flasks. He runs his hands over a spellbook as he speaks, his eyes bright with greed. "That pendant must hold incredible power – imagine what we could do if we tapped into it! I could amplify my spells tenfold, maybe even unlock immortality." Hythesion walks out before he can finish, the wizard's voice calling after him.
Frustrated, they head back to the Golden Mantle and collapse into a corner booth. Osmedious flags down the waitress and orders two tankards of ale, slumping forward onto the table.
"Come on, man – you can't be this picky! Those are the guild's three of the Top members!" Osmedious claimes proudly.
"Top at what?" Hythesion replies, stirring his mead with a straw. "Stealing from kids, showing off, and chasing power for their sake? Sorry Os, but I'd rather go alone than trust people who don't care about anything but themselves."
Their conversation is cut short by a loud crash from the other side of the inn. A group of mercenaries – their cloaks stitched with the guild's silver hawk insignia, marking them as high-rank – have cornered a young waitress. She's barely eighteen, her hands trembling as she scrambles to pick up the wine she spilled across one man's boots.
"Look what you did, you clumsy little rat!" the lead mercenary snarls, grabbing her apron and yanking her forward. "These boots cost more than your whole family makes in a year. You'll pay for this" Looks at the waitress from below, "-and not just with coin!" The mercenaries laugh pervertedly.
No one moves to help. Even the toughest patrons know better than to cross silver hawk mercenaries. But from the farthest booth, a tiefling man with skin like polished ruby and short horns, slams his empty mug down so hard it shatters.
"Hey! You're too loud!" he slurs, swaying a little as he pushes himself to his feet. His clothes are worn and stained, but his movements are steady despite the ale on his breath. "You're messin' with my drink time! "
The lead mercenary laughs, a harsh, barking sound. "And who're you supposed to be? Some drunk beggar who thinks he can take us on?"
The tiefling doesn't answer, he just moves. Dashes towards the lead mercenary, so fast that he's like a blur, His first punch is clean and true, sending the lead mercenary flying into a nearby table and splintering the wood. Hythesion was surprised on that move. When two more Mercenaries charge at the Tiefling, he ducks under their swings, his body moving like water despite his intoxication. He grabs one by the wrist, twists it behind his back, and uses him as a shield against the fourth's blade. The fifth tries to tackle him from behind, but the tiefling spins on his heel and plants a boot square in the man's gut, sending him sliding across the floor into a pile of empty tankards.
In less than a minute, all five mercenaries are groaning on the floor. The tiefling dusts himself off, and heads back to his booth.
"Another ale, please – and make it a big one!" He calls out, like he didn't just take down five of the guild's top fighters.
Hythesion stands up, already walking toward him. "I want him on the team."
"Are you sure?" Osmedious asks, following close behind. "He's wasted – and we don't even know his name!"
"I saw what matters," Hythesion says firmly, as he is reaching the booth. "Pretty fighting skills back there man, I'm Hythesion, what's your name?" Hythesion sat down in the table.
The tiefling looks up, his amber eyes clear now – like the drunkenness was just a mask. He grins, revealing sharp white teeth. "Akmenos."
Then he saw Hythesion's Silverlake Pin in his scarf. He spits his drink, quickly stood up, unsteadilly and almost fainted, took a bow. "Sorry sir, I am Akmenos, at your service."
"Why are you bowing?" Hythesion asked.
"Never wanted to piss off a Silverlake members, Si-Sir! " Keeps bowing.
"It's fine you can stand up now." Hythesion said.
Akmenos remained bowing until he fell to the ground falling asleep.
Hythesion smirks and looked at Osmedious, "This is the one." He taps Osmedious on the back and walks out
The next morning, they make their way to the Great Library of Frenreil in southern Thullford – a massive stone building with arched windows and shelves that stretch up into shadowed ceilings. The air smells like old paper, dust, and dried herbs. Hythesion piles three huge stacks of books on a wooden table: histories of ancient artifacts, faded maps of the region, and crumbling tales of lost cities.
"We won't find any more teammates if we spend all day cooped up in here!" Osmedious complains, slumping in a chair and propping his feet up on an empty crate.
"Without knowing what we're carrying or why Morea became what it is, we're just walking blind," Hythesion replies, already buried in a dusty tome. "I just need to understand more on why's that city is dead as it is now."
"Morea was never 'just' a city, you know." a voice suddenly speaks.
They look up to see a dwarven girl – no older than twenty – with braided pure-black hair tied back with leather thongs, wearing the simple brown tunic of a library helper. She's been dusting the shelves nearby, a feather duster in one hand, but now she stands beside their table, her face lit up with excitement.
"Once, it was the happiest place in all the lands. Every street was lined with gardens that grew flowers in colors you've never seen, Humans, elves, dwarves… even nobles would visit sometimes, just to share stories and trade crafts in the central square. They had a council of elders who kept peace, and their artisans made jewelry that glowed with its own warm light – people said it was infused with the joy of the city itself."
She pauses, then claps a hand over her mouth. "Oh, I'm so sorry – I know I shouldn't bother patrons. I just love history so much, and no one ever asks about Morea…"
Hythesion leans forward, his eyes wide with interest. "Please – keep going. You said it was happy once – what happened? All the books say it just… went dark."
Maitara's face sobers, and she pulls a small wooden stool closer to sit with them. "No one knows for sure why it happened, but everyone says it started the day the Chaos Dragon God Gannurim vanished. One morning, the sun rose over Morea like always – but the light never quite reached the streets. The flowers stopped glowing, the dragons stopped coming, and little by little, people started leaving. Within a year, it was empty – silent and dark, like a grave. That's all anyone knows."
"How do you know this?" Hythesion asks. "I've read every book on Morea in this library, and none of them tell these details."
The girl grins, her freckles crinkling across her nose. "I read it myself in the ruins of the Dwarven Mountains, carved into the walls of an old temple up there."
Hythesion and Osmedious stares dumbfounded to the girl.
"What? Not all knowledge came from books, you know! " She said.
Hythesion and Osmedious exchange shocked looks. Ruin Texts – ancient scripts so old and complex that even seasoned scholars struggle to make sense of them.
Hythesion saw her nametag and it says, Maitara, library helper.
"Maitara, right? You can read Ruin Texts?" Hythesion asks, his voice full of awe. "I've studied them for years and can barely make out a word."
"Most dwarves my age can't," Maitara admits, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But my grandmother taught me – she said knowledge is only powerful if you share it with people who need it. She used to tell me stories about Morea every night before bed."
Hythesion closes his book and stands up, holding out his hand. "Then help us see it. We're heading to Morea, and we need someone who understands its history – someone who can read what we can't. Will you join us?"
Maitara's face lights up like the sun breaking through storm clouds. "Really? I've been dreaming of going there my whole life! I'll pack my things right now – just let me tell the head librarian I'm taking some time off!"
Hythesion smirks and looked at Osmedious.
"No... " Osmedious says to Hythesion.
"Yes.. " Hythesion replied as he stood up and taps Osmedious in the back and walks out.
Osmedious sighs.
As they leave the guild hall later that day, they hear shouts from the street ahead. A group of mercenaries are kicking over the wooden stalls of a poor family – clay pots shatter on the cobblestones, bolts of cloth spill into the dirt, and baskets of fruit roll everywhere. A young boy, no older than ten, steps forward with his small fists clenched tight.
"Stop it! That's our food – we need that to eat!"
The lead mercenary – a big man with a scar across his face – slaps the boy hard across the cheek, sending him tumbling to the ground. Before anyone can react, a tall figure moves forward – scaled, calm, and steady as a mountain. A lizardfolk man with greg skin and worn leather armor, plants a solid punch in the mercenary's gut, sending him crashing into a fruit cart.
"A hero never hurts children or innocent people," the lizardfolk says, his voice deep and quiet, like stones grinding gently together.
The other mercenaries roar in anger and charge him all at once. But he doesn't fight back – he just stands his ground, letting their fists and kicks land while keeping his body turned to shield the family behind him. He doesn't flinch, doesn't raise his hands to defend himself – he just takes it, his eyes fixed on the family to make sure they're safe. After a few moments, the mercenaries grow bored of hitting someone who won't fight back and storm off, muttering threats about getting even.
Hythesion rushes over, pulling a small healing potion from his satchel. "Why didn't you fight back?" He asked.
The lizardfolk wipes blood from his lip with a scaled hand, wincing slightly but not showing any anger. "I only use my strength to protect the helpless. A hero never fights back for satisfaction or fun. My strength is for keeping others safe, not proving I'm stronger."
He looks toward the family – the boy is safe in his mother's arms now, and they're already starting to pick up the pieces of their stall. A small smile crosses the lizardfolk's face.
"All I need is to see the people I saved happy. That's reward enough."
"What's your name?" Hythesion asks, genuinely touched.
"Geth Silverwind," he replies, bowing his head respectfully.
Hythesion turns to Osmedious, a small smile on his face. "Here's your final contender. Tell them all to be ready – we leave at sunrise tomorrow."
Osmedious sighs but nods, watching as Hythesion heads off to prepare. He mutters to himself as he follows: "*Sigh* Sometimes, He's serious, sometimes he's weird… but I'm glad he's my friend though. He sees things the rest of us miss."